


...But God I Like It

by badgertastic



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Sitting, Inappropriate Humor, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Humor, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5372996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgertastic/pseuds/badgertastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of Iron Bull x F!Lavellan smutty shorts, otherwise known as "Achievement Unlocked: Surprise!  You're Into BDSM!".  Pure puff and fluff and naughty bits.  Yay for naughty bits.</p><p>Now with 100% more edits, henky timeline fixes, and bad jokes (and better title!) because if it's wrong to find the humor in being dominated by a big dorky qunari who loves hot cocoa I don't wanna be right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Devil Divine

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written in a jillion years and it probably shows. But now I've got the time and the hardware to play DA:I, so I am, and rather shamelessly, fannishly and obnoxiously-spammy at that. I'm "livewriting" this (for lack of a better word) shit as I do my first playthrough. I dodged spoilers like a champ.
> 
> More "chapters" arriving whenever I can stop banging him like a screen door in a hurricane long enough to write.

It wasn’t exactly like she’d expected.  Up until the qunari moved with a deftness that impressed even her, wrists caught and pinned above her head in only one of the Iron Bull’s massive hands, she hadn’t even known she was into this sort of thing.  Discovering Bull’s tastes for sharper-edged pleasures was one thing.  It was another entirely to learn she responded to it as well.

Though, she reckoned if she thought about it enough, she was sure she’d always known.  It was awfully hard to ruminate on whether or not one had always liked to be tied up when one was still  _ currently _ tied up.

Bull sat back on his heels, his eye dark with hunger.  Given her predicament and the most inappropriate display she was putting on, it made her tremble, her shame pink on her skin.  But this?  It felt good, and not just in the obvious way.  She’d been skulking about Skyhold’s roofs, watching reconstruction plans unfold within the derelict fortress.  Inquisitor Silanah Lavellan, snoop and perpetual busybody.  It was a habit not easily broken, Inquisition or no.  One rotten crossmember later and she was lucky she had escaped with only a wrenched shoulder and a scrape or two.

Bull had done  _ something _ with the seeming endless coils of rope he’d knotted and snugged around her, contorting her tied limbs in a way that made the ache in her shoulder ease.  She wriggled, trying to figure out just what he’d pulled where, but that ceased quickly with a gasp.

She’d been so busy pondering how feeling faintly like a trussed roast was conducive to lovemaking she hadn’t noticed the hard little knots in the silk he’d slid between her thighs.  Her experimental wiggling had caused the strange (but admirable in its brilliance, she had to admit) pulley system he’d made of her body to respond, drawing those silk knots taut against a tender place.

Iron Bull clearly noticed her reaction, a predatory smile forming in response.  Boss Lavellan was surprisingly plush in the proper areas.  Boiled leather armor and cotton padding kept her figure hidden.  The sinewy nimbleness of his current employer was certainly nothing to complain about, bisected here and there with white silk that stood out deliciously against her tawny coloration.

What really made the whole spectacle enjoyable was the look on her face.  Bull could almost see the wheels turning.  Boss was all logic - calculating, analytical, thoughtful.  Where logic failed though, there was sheer balls-to-the-wall defiance.  A streak about a league and a half long.

_ She’s trying to work out the play of the knots.  See how they work.  And at the same time she doesn’t want to admit what those three cutter’s knots are doing to her while she figures it out.  Beautiful. _ His glowing praise of her self-control ended in a loud burst of laughter he couldn’t stop as, with an undignified “oh!”, the Inquisitor pushed her experiments too far, upsetting her bound center of balance.  Face-first she went, right into the sheets.

What a glorious ass.

Bull rose from his chair, circling the bed like he was appraising fine sculpture.  His Inquisitor’s face was still buried in the sheets.  Even then, Bull could hear her panting.  From his vantage behind her he knew exactly why.  Those knots were making her thighs quiver, but not enough to give her any relief.  He chuckled, hooking a finger in the ropes that crossed at the small of her back, just above the swell of that throat-and-trouser-tightening ass.

Levered upright, Silanah hung her head.  Coming up had been nearly as bad as going down.  To make matters worse, he hadn’t pulled her fully up yet, leaving her tipped precariously on her knees, her weight hanging against the ropes as he physically drug her closer to him.  Bull barely had to make the effort to keep her in such a way.  Tossing her head to knock hair from her eyes, she shot him a wicked look over her shoulder.  “If you’re expecting me to use … that word,” her voice hardly quavered and she even managed a grin - good for her, “you’re going to have to get a kettle and some carrots ‘n onions first.”

He laughed at that, and it felt like her bindings vibrated along with it.  “Why get complicated?”  Her skin pebbled into goosebumps as he loomed close, their bodies not quite touching.  His free hand plucked the taut rope like a harpstring, and the elf felt the muted buzz just where he intended.  Involuntarily her back arched with a sharp intake of breath, her shoulders thudding against his torso.  Her head tipped back against his pectorals - gods fend, he was so  _ big _ \- panting like she’d just run a mile.  From her current perspective the Iron Bull positively towered, more so than he normally did.  Shadows and poor peripheral vision made his crown of horns all the more menacing.  Defiance was still in her eyes, though it warred with a fog of desire.  Bull pulled her tight against him as best the bindings allowed, her arms pressed between their bodies.  “I’d prefer to eat you raw.”  His head swung down in a frightfully predatory fashion, teeth nipping at the smooth curve of her shoulder before his mouth sealed tight on her skin, sucking hard to pull the blood to the surface.  Her sharp, ragged intake of breath was a suitable response as he surveyed the mark he’d made where shoulder joined throat.

Sheathed in sweat, Lavellan Inquisitor was unable to stop from trembling like a fly-bitten horse.  Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered her body’s position against Bull’s, and that the hardness pressed against her back wasn’t some rivet in his belt.  It was …

Oh sweet blessings of Mythal.

Her captor continued playing the cords, sliding knots that arched her back further until he could see her ribs flexing with every gasping breath.  She was … bendy.  _  It wouldn’t be long now, _ he mused.   _ Of course she’s embarrassed - it’s her first time and that’s always to be expected.  And I’m qunari.  She’s elven.  What would the neighbors think?  But more than that.  She’s the Inquisitor.  The Herald of An-fucking-draste.  I’m just some lowly mercenary chump.  … a Ben-Hassrath mercenary chump, no less.  The impropriety of it all.  The absolutely disgraceful disregard for the hierarchy, the command structure. _

Iron Bull’s chest rumbled like an earthquake.  “You want it.”   _ That’s right, you fierce little thing.  Throw logic and caution straight into the abyss.   _ His breath was hot on her ear, before he savaged the tender curve of flesh with teeth and tongue, pleased with the husky moan he got in response.  Even then, she fought to regain control and stop the tremors that wracked her.  “Tell me what you want.”

It was honestly getting rather difficult to remember why she was resisting him in the first place - probably some expected behaviors associated with the ordeal that she hadn’t bothered inquiring about fully before agreeing.  Funny that.  How a so-called Inquisitor forgets to inquisit when there’s a 7 foot tall qunari around to incite a veritable flood between her thighs.

But that was the rub of it, wasn’t it?  She’d been roped into this debacle by virtue of pure accident, pun probably not intended.  Beyond that, she’d agreed to stay!  Now it was all saving the world and paperwork … Elgar’nan piss on whoever invented paperwork.  Was it such a terrible sin to put down the burden?  Even for a little while?  No worries or expectations or demands.  Just a swollen slick knot rubbing her into mindlessness, while Bull’s hands and mouth played her like an instrument.  Surrender.

As if he’d read her mind, Bull’s head hovered at her throat again, assaulting her ear even as the faint prickle of his stubble grazed her skin.  “Sing for me, Boss.  Let me hear you.”  A hand dipped, a hand big enough to nearly circle her waist on its own, fingers finding the soaked cord that split her, sliding further, parting, and then plunging.  The cry of release torn from her was enough to startle the ever-present ravens from the roof.  Despite their raucous squawking at the offense, Bull heard what he’d been waiting for.

“Please!”

Close enough.

He tugged at a particular length of braided cord left to hang in a pleasing fashion from the artful weaving that laced across her upper torso.  The bindings loosened immediately, some falling away in elegant coils, others remaining as charming adornments.  No longer bent nearly double backwards, Lavellan felt a strange languor leech from her bones as they reasserted their proper configuration.  Strange, but not unpleasant.  And her shoulder didn’t hurt at all any longer.  Now she was turning - being turned - by Bull, who seemed to be aware of the way her tingling limbs didn’t want to obey.  The qunari’s body soon covered her own, easily balancing a weight that would have surely crushed her otherwise on his elbows and knees.  His face swam in her vision, single eye darting across her features as if he were assessing her needs before proceeding further.

A kiss - the first time his lips had touched hers since she’d found him in her bedroom and initiated all of this delightful madness - once again not what she was expecting.  Forceful, yes, plundering, yes, but also unwontedly tender.  Were she not already horizontal her knees may very well had given out, replaced with quivering jelly.  One of his hands worked between their bodies, she heard the rustle of clothing.  With a sweetness profound enough to make tears well, his forehead touched hers reassuringly, lips brushing hers in the promise of another kiss as he spoke.  “Don’t be afraid to stop it.  I’ll start gentle.”

Managing to regain some control of her arms, she wound them shaking around his mighty neck, feeling hard muscle jump and strain as he wrestled for his own self-control.  Her forearms were spiralled with angry red chafe marks where they had been bound, coiling across her skin like a serpent.  Or, perhaps, like the sinuous neck of a high dragon.  A smile curved her lips at a flash of appropriately-filthy recollection.  What was it he’d said the other night over drinks?

_ Taarsidath-an halsaam. _

 


	2. The Qun & the Art of Inquisitor Maintenance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftercare - sometimes it's cuddles and tea, sometimes it's further raunchy sex. ...though I think there's actually more talking and less gratuitous boinking in this installment. It's almost developing the semblance of a plot. Oh no.

Water splashed as she sunk to her chin.  The tub itself was a great affair of well-dressed stone, square and elevated off the floor to allow a fire to be stoked beneath it.  The qunari set the last log on the flames before standing upright, the edge of the basin a fraction higher than his waist.

The Boss’s head rested on the smooth inner curve of stone.  Her face glistened with steam smelling of something aromatic and faintly spicy.  Her head lolled to the side to find Bull, who stood just off to her left like a personal guard.  She attempted to focus on him, but her eyes remained glazed with a memory of pleasure.  The warmth of the water soothed the peculiar “stretched” ache of her body, eliciting a sigh of contentment.  Not an hour ago she’d been bound in yard after yard of white silk rope.  Knees bent, thighs lashed apart and to her shins.  More knots and weaving had arced up her hips and torso, criss-crossing between her breasts and back to her arms, tied together from elbows to her wrists in hypnotizing spirals, before being affixed with a length of cord to her ankles.  Then there was the cord he’d left for last, hanging untouched from the weaving between her breasts.  Three little knots, like the kind a surgeon would make, hard and square, knotted precisely along its length.  That cord was then drawn up, threaded through openings in the pattern, and fastened between her shoulder blades.  Then he had posed her on the bed, perched on her knees and toes.  Back arched in an elegant line, making her breasts jut forward.  The way Bull stared hungrily at her led her to believe she had made a pretty picture.

She hadn’t realized what the knots were for until she had tried to move.  Every motion caused it to tighten, to rub insistently against sensitive flesh until her thighs were slick with wetness and trembled without cease from the building tension.  Finally she had surrendered to the qunari’s will.  This was the aftermath of that surrender.  Her mind managed to coalesce in the present, leaving the exquisite shame of it all in the past.  But so far the Inquisitor hadn’t managed a single coherent thought.  Even when he’d slipped a robe around her and brought her tea she’d only managed a lazy smile, as if she were some sort of simpleton.  Her brow furrowed, the motion causing a bead of sweat to trickle down the bridge of her nose.  __ _ Say something! _

“I … I didn’t know.”  she managed lamely.  A wry smile turned his lips.  One of those hands, those massive, callused, impossibly strong hands brushed gently at the damp clump of rust-colored hair that flopped limply on her forehead, pushing it out of her eyes.  She nearly turned to liquid at the gesture.

He leaned sideways against the wall of the tub, facing her.  “Most people don’t.  It’s not something I talk about in certain company.  Don’t want anyone getting the wrong ideas - even if it is none of their fucking business.”  He focused his attention on her languid form, slipping his other hand into the water to gently bring up one of her arms.  Had he not done it for her, she never would have managed it.  His thumb caressed one of the red memories of her bondage, observing the damage left behind, and was reminded of how small her hand was in his.  Her fingertips would barely reach beyond his knuckles.  “When you’re done here I’ll bring up the salve.”  Her brow furrowed again, this time in confusion.  “For … chafing.  Though I’m certain the Chargers never expect to use it on rope burns of this nature.  It’s mostly for saddle sores and ill-fitting leather britches.”  Bull laughed, letting her arm dip bonelessly back into the water.  Then there was that spectacularly purple love-bite he’d left on her neck, visible just beneath the waterline.  It looked lovely in a perverse, savage sort of way, making him toss his head to stop his imagination from continuing further.  “You’re going to have a fine time explaining that one.”  He arched a brow when she remained silent.  “...you doin’ okay, boss?”

Conversation required an immense effort on her part for the moment, thoughts slipping away like a greased nug.  “My head … feels like … like it’s floating away.  ‘s hard to explain.”

He laughed in response, smoothing back her hair even though it didn’t require it.  It was a convenient excuse to just touch her.  “You’re rope drunk.”  A kiss pressed lightly against her forehead, on the branching tattoo there done in deep green relief.  “It’s a side effect of the play.”  He straightened, still studying her.  “That’s why I’m here.  It’s bad manners to ravish someone so thoroughly and then ditch them for drinks.”  His roguish grin was lopsided.

For no particular reason other than she wanted to, she reached up to touch his face.  Her fingertips lingered for a moment, leaving behind a smear of wetness and droplets of water that glittered in his short beard.  The Iron Bull’s mighty heart nearly melted in his chest, even as he laughed.  Tearing his eye from her face, he followed the line of her throat to the curve of her breasts just beneath the surface, until the rest of her was lost in shadowed water.  It was too easy to picture her lashed to the bed and helpless against further attention, hips jumping and straining to reach him.  Arousal hit him like a ton of bricks, his surprised grunt sounding more like a growl.

Her head was clearer now at least, and she could see the desire growing in him as he looked her over.  There was something base, something primal in it, that absolutely undid her.   _  I want him again.  It feels like I should know how a split log feels, but … gods I want him again. _

The Iron Bull was Ben-Hassrath.  A spy.  Noticing the fine details of body language was everything to his type.  It was how he knew before they’d even started that she had strained the muscles of her arm.  And the other part of his training as Ben-Hassrath - the questioning of those thought to be a threat to the Qun - was knowing in what way to ply the muscles and ease the injury, even if the original purpose of the knowledge was to inflict pain, not soothe it.  Now he watched passion suffuse her face, a faint stain of pink that deepened the heat-reddened color of her cheeks and reached to the tips of her ears.  He longed to nibble at those ears until she begged for mercy.  Even as her lips parted to express her wants, he cupped her cheek with one hand.

_ Have mercy on your wicked child, Mother Mythal. _  The qunari’s hand was big enough to engulf her entire skull, and as his thumb slipped back and forth across her lower lip, she could feel his fingers press with tender urgency into the back of her head.

“Boss…?”  The question was a deep bass, his voice thick.  Almost as if time slowed, he watched her face turn against his open palm, pressing her lips against his skin in a demure kiss, her eyes fluttering closed.  Her head tilted back, lips parting again as she gently, oh so gently, nipped at the fleshy pad of his thumb.  The nibble turned into a slow, deliberate suckle, punctuated with a kiss.  The Inquisitor’s eyes returned to his, and then she smiled.

He nearly burst at the seams.

Bull’s grip tightened a fraction and he pulled just so, levering her up out of the water by the back of her neck to seal her mouth against his in a searing kiss that made her entire body arch from the intensity.  His voice was hoarse, raw with desire when the kiss ended.  “Are you sure?”

Whether it was the kiss or being of healthy elven constitution, the Inquisitor felt alarmingly rejuvenated.  She hungered for another one of those kisses, closing her mouth around his bottom lip in a kiss that was more biting and suckling than anything else.  “I’m sure, Bull.”

Thick arms reached into the tub, sliding around her small frame as he lifted her out of the water like she weighed nothing.  Her wet nakedness pressed hard against his bare chest, neither one noticing nor caring that it left the qunari’s trademark pants sodden.  “You remember the word, right?”

“Mmm.”

“If it’s too much, use it.”  He crossed from bathing room to the Lavellan’s bedroom, and before she could respond, tossed her with practiced abandon onto the rumpled sheets while he was still three paces from the bed.  The shriek she’d bit back as she sailed through the air was worth it, and had him grinning even as he climbed onto the bed beside her.  His hand found her face again, turning her head to his.  “I don’t want to hurt you … unless you ask first.”  That last remark was a feral growl fit for a mabari the size of a bear.  His boss had a peculiar haircut for an elf (peculiar for anyone, now the he thought about it), the sides and back of her head shaved close, leaving a combed forward spray of red hair the color of dried blood.  It was odd to be sure, but it suited her after a fashion.  There was certainly enough hair left for his next maneuver.  The hand that had caressed her skin so gently moments ago now fisted in that shock of hair, and with a measured dose of care, ratcheted her face up to force her to look him in the eye.

A thread of fear lanced through her, causing her to stiffen beneath him.  Her pupils dilated, parted lips trembling even as all breath left her in a ragged whimper.  Lavellan mastered herself, thin nimble hands slipping between them to grasp each of his horns.  The glorious ache from their last lovemaking had been replaced with a hot pulsing need that wouldn’t be denied.  Even though her strength was a thimble of water beside the Waking Sea compared to his, it was enough to tug his mouth down onto hers.

The word remained unsaid, and the Iron Bull remembered eagerly the idea he’d had about her ears.

  
  


The sheets were still faintly damp, even after the frenzy of their lovemaking.  Bull rolled to his back, suppressing a wince as he did.  Despite her size, Silanah was all sinewy muscle like a great cat, and had managed to carve suitable furrows down his back in her wild abandon.  Unlike the drunken fuzziness that preceded the rope play, the golden glow of satiation that coursed through her this time left her bright and alert.  Wedging a suitable number of pillows behind his back and head to compensate for his horns, the Iron Bull studied her with a faintly amused grin hooking the corners of his mouth up.

She sat, mother naked and not caring one whit, cross-legged on the bed beside him.  All of those niggling little questions she couldn’t remember hours ago were finally present and ready in her mind, and she studied the qunari, her chin propped on her hands.  “Do all qunari have such … appetites?"

He laughed, levering himself upright.  He’d never hear the end of it from the washer-woman if he left stripes of blood staining the Inquisitor’s sheets.  “Yes and no.  The Qun teaches us that physical pleasure and … something spiritual, like love, don’t mix.  What you’d call romantic love is a distraction that can diminish your contribution to qunari society.  So it doesn’t really matter if you’re into shit like tying someone up so long as it doesn’t affect your ability to do your determined job.  Remember what I said about the Tamassarans?”  He paused for her nod.  She shifted positions, sitting on her folded legs attentively like a child at lessons.  “Indulgence in … certain things is to be expected.  Sex in the Qun isn’t viewed like it is here.  Sex is to make you feel good, to relieve needs that would otherwise diminish your performance elsewhere.”  Heavy shoulders shrugged nonchalantly, though his grin was wicked.  “It’s difficult to get anything done when you’ve got a hard-on that could punch a hole in a dreadnought.  ...you know, Boss, it’s kind of cute the way your cheeks went all pink there.”  Bull grinned like the cat who’d eaten the canary and gotten away with it.  “You weren’t quite so decorous not five minutes ago.  Your demands at the end were  _ exceedingly _ vulgar.”

Lavellan went supremely pink at that, before her chin set in a perfect defiant scowl, even if she couldn’t hold it for more than a moment.  “I’m deeply ashamed for having so offending your delicate sensibilities, The Iron Bull, and throw myself on your tender mercies.” she retorted, the mocking formality of the apology clear.  What was also clear was the qunari’s ...sudden and quite prodigious interest in the conversation.

Bull’s chuckle was dark and smoky.  “Oh I think I can find it in my heart to accept your apology.  I even think I can come up with a suitable way for you to make it up to me.”  His long arm swung out, easily able to reach and enclose an entire asscheek in a tight grip, his missing fingertips still able to dimple the softness.  There were going to be bruises there later, oh yes.

Her response to his need was immediate, even as she feigned a dramatic sigh.  “Three times, Bull?  I’ll have to ride your shoulders everywhere for the rest of the week as it is!”

“You’re lucky I happen to be a qunari who can appreciate a good double entendre, Boss.”  Bull pulled, easily dragging the elf towards him even as he sunk back on the pillows.  The upset washwoman could kiss his ass, bloodstains be damned.  He’d buy the shitting thing from the Inquisition and turn the barbed slashes into a fucking battle standard.  He voiced his satisfaction with the view by way of a rippling chuckle as he pulled her atop him, legs splayed wide as she straddled his chest.  He could tell she felt the sound’s vibration in a particular way from the sudden stiff curve of her back, the way her fingers clawed tight on his chest, stinging red weals rising almost immediately.  The wet heat surging between her thighs and smearing against his skin as he dragged her higher nearly cost him all of his precious self-control.  “I’m planning on using something else to make you squirm for me, Boss.”  His last view of her as his lips came into contact with what he sought was her face.  Peering down at him from beyond her breasts, the mortified redness of her cheeks at odds with the expectant parting of her lips.  He watched the shift happen in her eyes almost immediately.  She approached the edge, hesitated only a moment, and then willingly threw herself over.  All reservation and assumed Inquisitorial dignity gone, submitting entirely to the will of hungry, reckless desire.  His will.  The way she gripped the base of his horns like a lifeline as her hips rocked against his mouth was just a fabulous added bonus.

 


	3. The Gift that Gives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But today … today they’d killed a dragon. The qunari’s blood always ran the hottest on those days."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo for remembering how to write like a grown-up!
> 
> This installment was originally produced by a bout of insomnia. Insomnia!, brought to you by Fade Spider Demons! It's a Fade Spider Demon, and it's riding a train made of nightmares and lemon juice right into your anus! Thanks, crippling arachnophobia!
> 
> But posting of said installment was postponed thanks to Trespasser turning me into an emotional cripple for two days. If I decide to publish that next one it'll be set post-Trespasser and so goddamn angst ridden it'll make your toes curl. I just need to work up the emotional strength to write it first.

Generally, she could tell what sort of sex she was getting by the way he said “kadan” before scooping her up.  If the Chargers had campaigned successfully, it was usually at 3 AM as he slipped into her bedroom, nibbling her ears until she both awoke and stopped pretending to be asleep (so he would continue).  Then “kadan” would be slightly slurred - Bull never (well, rarely) got as drunk as he led others to believe he did - Bull himself would be bubbling with delighted chuckles as he sought to make her wake the proverbial dead and shatter Skyhold’s predawn quiet.  “Kadan” purred softly against her skin meant a night of slow-burning passion that would leave her soaked in sweat as she dangled helplessly from the iron eye bolt he’d stealth-installed in the keystone of the balcony doorway one day.

But today … today they’d killed a dragon.  The qunari’s blood always ran the hottest on those days.

And despite his name, the Iron Bull could be alarmingly stealthy when it served his purpose.  Tonight was such a night, as he carefully levered her bedroom door closed and locked it.  It didn’t make a sound.  Softly he padded up the stairs, pausing as his head cleared the landing.  The object of his wanton affections paced to and fro before her fireplace.  Lost in thought, she was clearly going over one of Cullen’s battle plans, fingers ticking and sweeping as she imagined each formation’s token being pressed into play.

She didn’t notice him, so he continued to observe.  Clad in one of those delightfully rippable thin cotton nightgowns, the fire silhouetted her figure through the material.  Lovely.  He could still picture her during today’s kill, a blur of whirling silver thanks to her long-knives and the way she danced under both the swing of his axe and the rending claws of the high dragon, always a half-second ahead of tragedy.  For a moment his thoughts turned to abandoning his plan, mounting the stairs to shred that thin nightdress (which he did with such frequency that she regularly had orders out for a fresh supply) and take her right there on the rug.

He waited instead, letting his hunger build.  She’d bathed earlier that evening.  The doors were open, which kept the bitter smell of woodsmoke at bay, and the dozen candles were odorless beeswax.  Bull could smell her.  No flowery soaps or scented oils for the Inquisitor, oh no.  But when one smelled sharp and sweet and reminiscent of myrrh additional scents were unnecessary.  ...and of course, he was fully aware that cinnamon was added to the mix when she was appropriately excited.

The Iron Bull would have the place positively reeking of cinnamon before he was done tonight.

Her only warning of his arrival and approach was a low, feral growl that she didn’t have time to react to.  Suddenly she was swept high, her back pinned against his chest thanks to one massive hand splayed across her belly.  The qunari held her in place easily as his head bent, sharp incisors raking across her skin in an open-mouthed kiss that was more of a bite on the nape of her neck.

“Kadan.”  The word vibrated through her as his maimed hand skirted the hem of her pajamas, bunching them around her waist as he dragged his palm up the length of her thigh to cup the soft mound beneath her smallclothes.  His middle finger slowly traced the shape of the slit beneath, adding an ounce more pressure on the place where beneath he knew was a tender bud of flesh swelling in response to his touch.

The elf hung enraptured and helpless in his arms, all previous worries forgotten.  Bull was there, suddenly filling her senses.  She felt his pleased chuckle, deep and throaty, as her smallclothes were soon soaked.  More of her weight settled on his fingers as he adjusted his hold on her, enough to make her toes curl.  Now the front of her nightgown was torn open, his calluses causing shocks of ecstasy as he closed around one of her breasts.

Her nipple was taut and jutting against his palm as he groped her, teasing the bud with a flick of his thumb until his kadan’s soft gasps had escalated into a chain of whimpers.  Visiting the same teases on her other breast, he was aware of the necklace that dangled between such displayed perfection.  It was made from the half of a dragon’s tooth, the other half around his own neck and likely jabbing between her shoulderblades.

Much had changed since he’d first invited her to “Ride the Bull”.  Even then, he had abandoned the Qun, his people,  _ being _ Hissrad; all for the Inquisition.  For her.  But now there was the dragon’s tooth.  That had been the biggest surprise to date.  Solas was still pissed with him for having ‘put the idea in her head’ and thus ‘bringing unnecessary danger’ to the Inquisition when she risked her life to obtain it.

As far as he was concerned Solas could fuck right off back to the Fade and have congress with a tree or whatever it was the damn elf did when he was dozing.

Focusing his attention back on the woman in his arms, he found she was grinding herself against his hand slowly, in time with his rubbing.  Each movement of her hips caused her thighs to graze tantalizingly against his erection, which had already begun to ache.  Getting the perversely flexible elf ready would provide a calming distraction.

She felt the heat of Bull’s mouth against her ear and it made her shudder.  It was times like these she believed his speculations that the Tamassrans had mingled dragon blood with base kossith stock somewhere.  He was always  _ hot _ .  He bled it like a heavy cast-iron stove, made it so that when he did have the chance to stay the night, no blankets were needed even with the balcony doors open.  It felt like his touch was hot enough to scald, especially that long middle digit and its ceaseless stroking.  Bull’s question brought a smile to her face at the promise of what was to come.

“Pick a color, kadan.”

“Red.”

“Excellent choice.”

Normal folk kept odds and ends in their nightstands.  Small notebooks, an extra pen or two, found keys to missing locks. 

The Inquisitor’s was stuffed with fresh bundles of dyed silk cord, a length of black silk scarf that doubled as a blindfold, stoppered vials of a thick viscous tincture of Vandal Aria and Witherstalk that produced a deep warming tingle when used, and in a velvet pouch; a deliciously studded glass piece Bull had ordered special from Val Royeaux.  That paired with the honey-sweet tincture had elicited such cries from the Inquisitor they’d disturbed the entire left wing of the great hall.  Bull wasn’t ashamed to say that particular night was a great moment of “taarsidath-an halsaam” for those lonely evenings when campaigning in the wilderness with the Chargers.  Even as he set her feet on the ground beside the bed he fetched a skein of red cord from the nightstand, dropping it on the bed.  Then he busied himself with the removal of the ruined nightie, which didn’t take long - he simply pinched the fabric at either of her shoulders and pulled.  It split down the back easily, allowing it to slip from her body and puddle at her feet.

Distracted for a moment by the overwhelming urge to simply touch her, the Iron Bull knelt at her feet, smattering kisses down the center of her torso as his hands wandered.  The Inquisitor’s own hands were busy, caressing the stubble on the back of his head, the contours of massive muscle in his neck and shoulders, the hard raised lines of scar tissue.  Her head was tilted back in the bliss of it all, and when she brought it forward to look down at him, their eyes met.

He grinned, planting a slow, deliberate kiss between her thighs, never looking away from her face.  “Do you want the blindfold, or,” he paused to kiss again, followed by a deep, satisfied inhale that made her shiver.  Cinnamon.  “do you want to watch?”

“I want to watch, please.”

“Good.  Sit.  The ‘please’ was a nice touch, Boss.”

She sat with great alacrity, her eyes never leaving him as he took up the rope.  He remained kneeling as he spread her legs wide, keeping a hairsbreadth of space between them.  Bull knew the near-contact would drive her mad.  Her attention never faltered as he set to his work, entranced by the way his deft fingers wove and knotted.  Soon enough her torso was criss-crossed with red cord.  It encircled her throat with comforting snugness, splayed across her breasts and down her ribcage.  Each knot and length looped across her body changed the pressures of the others in subtle ways, leaving her faintly hypnotized with sensation.

Bull broke her from her trance with a sharp swat to her outer thigh.  “Stand for me, kadan.”  She obeyed, though her knees were jelly.  Holding her hips until she was steady, he resumed his work.  Her head tilted gently as she observed.  Now she watched his work less, studied him more.  The hard angular line of his jaw, his high cheekbones, the mighty sweep of his horns.  Even the web of scars overlaying his missing eye were intoxicating in their own way, an affirmation of his masculinity - and a mark of selflessness in how he’d earned them.

He was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen.

Impulse overtook her as she reached for him, caressing that handsome, noble, scarred face.  Bull paused, looking up at her.  “Ma vhenan.  Kadan.  I love you.”

The Iron Bull grinned, laying a hand over one of hers, turn his head to press a kiss into her palm.  “I love you too, kadan.”  He fell to an impulse of his own.  Tugging her hips forward, he removed her sodden smallclothes with an easy tug before planting his open mouth on the place they’d covered.  His tongue found her slick, swollen pearl as his hands went to her ass, giving each cheek a hard squeeze.

She cried out and nearly buckled, but he steadied her, his attention only a quick tease.  He knotted a harness of red around her hips, omitting the ropes that would otherwise torment her most delicate areas.  The bindings this time emphasized the roundness of her ass, her broad hips.  Cords danced up her back and shoulders, finally down to her arms.  They were joined at the wrists before her, separated by a length of rope as wide as his hand. 

He took a perverse sort of glee in the way she looked with her arms pinned above her head, and that’s what he planned for.  The way her back arched and her breasts thrust forward as if begging to be suckled and nibbled, even if her chin raised in defiance of his will.  Her legs were left undecorated, but as he bade her sit on the edge of the bed again, he forced them very wide as he lifted her arms up to get the desired arch out of her back.

Finished with his work, he sat back on his heels to observe.  There was no doubt she enjoyed every moment of this play, but that lingering mortification she felt added an extra sharpness.  Her cheek rested against her inner arm, green eyes downcast, gazing at him through her lashes.  Despite her shame at being so exposed and ogled, the wanton desire there was hard to miss.

And her thighs, oh how they trembled with need.  She was spread wide, and it felt like Bull’s fingers took an eternity to cross the space between their bodies and part her flesh, teasing, caressing, never penetrating.  She whined her frustration before she bit it off with a gasp.  Usually one of Bull’s first strictures during play was no begging, as he clearly reveled in the way her forced silence caused her contortions to intensify beneath his attention.

Even as his fingertips teased her waiting entrance he chuckled, coming forward to guide her back down onto the bed.  “Oh no, kadan.  Tonight you can beg.  Beg for me all you want.”  His head joined his fingers between her legs, tantalizing kisses up her thigh.  “I want to hear every single thing you need me to do to you.  Beg sweetly enough, and I may be moved to oblige.”  A love-bite blossomed below her navel, making her hips buck.  “Understand?”

“I do.”

“Kadan, what do you want?”

“Your fingers inside me.”

Happily he chose to obey - mostly because the frankly demanding way she’d said it amused him faintly - two fingers sliding deep within her, and she thanked him with a soft, sweet cry.  Even as he pumped them in and out of her, tortuously slow, Bull rested his mouth at the apex of her slit, tongue flicking at her pearl.  She was well aware of what he planned for her.  The Iron Bull would guide her to the razor edge of release and then dangle her there for as long as he could until she nearly went mad with need.

Much to her dismay his fingers withdrew, but were replaced instantly by his mouth.  Blood rushed to her cheeks in embarrassment almost as much as desire as Bull kissed her there the way he did her mouth.  His tongue plunged within her as he held fast to her, keeping her from thrashing too much.  The sounds alone were enough to cause a chain of strangled gasps to wrench themselves from her throat.  That made Bull smile, even if Silanah felt it rather than saw it.

Grasping fingers found purchase on the sheets and held hard.  Like the rest of him it seemed, the qunari’s mouth was pure searing heat, and she resisted the need to wrap her legs around his shoulders.  Firstly, it was because he hadn’t told her she could.  Second and most important, the maneuver could be clumsy at times.  His horns often got in the way.  So instead she kept her legs spread, trying to find a grip on the edge of the bed with her heels.

The Inquisitor hadn’t heard the nightstand drawer open and close again.  So when slick glass traced its way along her inner thigh, the touch was like a shock of ice water.  Nearly jerked upright by the spasm, she fell backwards moaning as Bull slowly teased the length of her with the blunt head of the “aide d’amour”.  It quickly warmed to her body temperature.  Iron Bull threw a monstrous shadow on the walls of her bedroom, even as he himself suddenly loomed over her in the firelight, looking for an instant so menacing her breath hitched.  But he settled himself gently beside her before adjusting her own position on the bed, compensating for their size difference as he lay propped on his right side.  Still he continued to tease her with the toy.  Clearly he found her soft pleading moans agreeable as he chuckled, lowering his head to nudge hers to the side as far as her upraised arms allowed.  That made it easier to shower devotion on the tender skin of of her throat left exposed above the collar-like beginnings of the rope.  Bull found himself transfixed by the way her pulse beat against his lips, the way everything that she was seemed to strain towards him.

He nudged insistently against her with the glass, as if asking a question.  Her eyes squeezed shut now that he was looking at her, her face turned away, buried in her arm.  “Bull … kadan please, put it inside me!”

He laughed softly.  “Good.  I was hoping you’d say that.”  He poised the toy at her entrance, and then stopped, a grin flickering at her thin, frustrated whine.  “But I want to see your face as it does.  Look at me, kadan.”  There was only a fraction of nervous hesitation as she turned, her cheeks awash in pink.  “Good girl.”  Her reward was a searing, brutal kiss that left her dazed and her lips bruised.  “Now ask again.”

Though color involuntarily suffused her face, there was no shame in her words.  “Kadan, please!  Fuck me!”  Her hips twitched upwards in emphasis.

Bull only chuckled, nibbling her lower lip.  “I will eventually, but this will have to suffice for now.”  With that, he plunged the device deep inside her, the suddenness of it triggering a violent orgasm and matching scream.

To her delirious surprise, Bull didn’t stop, nor click his tongue in disapproval at her reaction.  Instead he began to use it in earnest, sinking it to the hilt and nearly withdrawing again in long, slow strokes.  All the while he never took his eye off her, even when she squeezed her eyes shut against the crest of another orgasm.

Slowly, realization dawned.  It wasn’t going to be what she’d thought.  It would be the opposite.  Rather than leave her wanting at the edge of the sea of release for an eternity, he was going to drown her in it.   _ Oh Gods of Lost Elvhenan, give me strength. _

To their ancient inscrutable and unknowable credit, they did.  At least,  _ something _ did that allowed her to endure being nearly unmade by the pleasures visited upon her by the qunari, each one begged for without mercy or remorse.  When he’d felt her sufficiently exhausted with the Orlesian glass he let the aching need between her thighs build as he used his mouth on her skin.  Bull tucked an arm under her shoulders, lifting her off the bed to seal his lips around one of her nipples.  First one, and then the other, leaving her helpless in his grip, her arms dangling over her head uselessly.  Between her thighs one finger stroked that swollen, tender bud lazily, a jolting counterpoint of pleasure to the one he visited on her breasts.  Three times her hips rose of their own accord, spasming in release.

Now Bull rolled to his back, close enough to the edge of the bed to allow his horns to overhang safely, if not exactly comfortably.  Without preamble he lifted her, sitting the elf square on his face.  His stubble prickled like needlepoints of delight as his tongue plunged like he was intent on devouring her.  For all intents and purposes he did, until he had lapped clean every fold and ridge within her, which in turn caused her to "dirty" herself again, prompting him lick her "clean" again, making a frightful mess of himself in the process.  Even as she watched with a certain deviant delight as he licked his chops like a satisfied dog he pulled her to him for a kiss, sharing her taste.  That alone sent an orgasm crashing down on her, leaving her breathless when he released her mouth.

He held her gently, his hands smoothing her skin until her trembling abated.  The qunari reclined back against the headboard, drawing Silanah into his lap, his erection obvious and, to him, now starting to border on painful.  Still he caressed her.  “How you doin’, kadan?”  The question was a low throaty rumble.

She still hadn’t caught her breath, and she leaned against him hard.  “I lost count … somewhere after six....”

“Nine, to be exact.”  He carefully lifted her arms, opening them wide.

“Nuh … nine?!”  Through a haze of borderline exhaustion, she realized what he was doing.  He was putting her arms around his neck the way he’d said he put on shirts with collars.  Gently, so gently, he threaded one horn through the circle of her arms, followed by the other.  It made her laugh, dipping her head to try and hide it.  He didn’t let that fly, tilting her chin up to watch, amused with her delight at the gesture.  

He pulled her closer now that her arms were no longer in the way, whispering against her mouth.  “How do you feel about number ten?” 

A flash of teeth as she smiled, nipping his lower lip.  “Ten’s always been my lucky number.”  She raised herself up on her knees to reach, peppering his face and throat with kisses.  There was a particular spot at the base of his jaw, where when kissed lightly he grunted and snorted like an honest rutting bull.  She felt his hands between them, saw his wince at the painful tenderness he’d endured teasing her.  Another impulse struck her.  “Kadan … may I?”

Bull reached behind his head, felt for the free end of the cords.  Such was his expertise on the subject that a few tugs saw her arms free of the bindings, coils of rope slithering loose.  “You’re the boss, Boss.  Ride the Bull.”  With that the Iron Bull reclined at his leisure, watching intently as the small elf woman braced herself on his stomach, adjusted her position, and never taking her eyes off his, slowly impaled herself on him.  It took a great force of will and by-rote mental recitations of the Qun to keep himself from bursting right then and there, feeling her impossible tightness close around him.  He gripped her hard enough to hurt, her pelvis grinding against his.  “H-holy  _ fuck _ , woman.”

The Inquisitor grinned at him wolfishly, unable to stop the fluttery, pumping circular motion her body seemed to be making on its own, the friction nearly too much to bear.  “That’s … that’s the general idea.”  She straightened, her back arching as she shifted positions again, nails digging into his twitching pectorals.  The Boss began to ride him in earnest, her head thrown back as her hips rose and fell, rose and fell.  The sight of her shredded his self-control.  The last of it slipped through his grasp as he found her looking at him.  “Are you?”

All he could manage was was a quick jerk of his head.

“Me, too.”  With one final downward thrust, she buried him within her.  The Inquisitor felt his entire length throb, and then flood her with more of his heat.  A last, ragged cry signaled lucky number ten, even as Bull bucked like his namesake, making what was sure to be a set of slightly mismatched hand-shaped bruises on her hips.

Bull’s muscles went limp like an invalid's.  His breath came in panting grunts as the elf crumpled against his chest, unable to stop the twitches of pure exhaustion.   “Holy … holy fuck, I’m going to have become an Andrastian just to have an epithet to yell the next time you do that.”

All that moved of the Inquisitor was her hand as if she were giving a decree, though it trembled and wavered from the effort it took.  From wherever her face was buried on his chest he heard faintly:  “By the grace of the Herald of Andraste the Iron Bull is …  _ wooh _ … given … given leave to invoke both the names of Andraste and the Maker the next time his kadan absolutely rocks his fucking world.”

The Iron Bull laughed for a good long while at that until the elf threatened to be shook off.  

“Nothing like a good display of post-coital blasphemy!  Somewhere Cassandra just felt like someone walked over her grave.”  He strove to make them both more comfortable.  “Oh, here.  Let me … unwrap you.”  She snorted at his choice of words.  “That gives me an idea.  I think for my birthday I’ll use ribbon and do you up like the best kind of present ever.”

Half-heartedly the Inquisitor swatted at him as he released the knots.  Part of her was sad that he did - she really did find it quite pretty.  “Stop that before one of us thinks about number eleven.  That one may very well kill me.”

 

“Ten really is your lucky number, huh kadan?”

 

“Yes.  As in ‘Maker’s balls under a big rock, lucky for me there are only ten known high dragons on Thedas’.”

 


	4. Jeux Sans Frontières (Games Without Frontiers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Empress' Grand Masquerade is every bit a fracas as anyone could have imagined, and that's not including uptight Orlesian nobles eating up the scandal of the Inquisitor bedding a qunari.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you today by me absolutely feeling like a dink in the vanilla Masquerade formal wear (and a litttttttle bit like Tim Roth as Ted the Bellhop in the deranged movie “Four Rooms” - “Problem? I haven't got a problem. I've got fucking problems. *Plural.*”) and because Bull’s line about Josie having to explain away the “awkward situation” of a qunari and an elf dancing/being romantically involved kind of really irritated me in a peculiar sort of way. So this is me shaking my fist and defending my OTP with sex and feels.

It was three weeks prior to the Empress’ Grand Masquerade and the Inquisition was practically buzzing with preparations.  There were things like plans to finalize and agents to contact, yes.  But the most important occurrence had been the arrival of the tailor from an atelier in Val Royeaux contracted to attire the Inquisition.  That’s why she was currently near-nude, standing in her quarters with her arms outstretched.  A whip-thin Orlesian who wielded a measuring tape like a cudgel (he’d smacked her on the thigh for not standing still at their first meeting - Bull had nearly thrown him off the balcony) circled her with a brace of long silver pins as he surveyed the breeches she wore.  It was time for the final fitting.

Behind her, observing the whole thing and clearly loving every minute of it, sat the Iron Bull.  He’d decided to relocate his day-drinking here for the duration, and she could hear him crunching away ceaselessly on candied almonds and figs.  The tailor bent, pinning fabric, before leaving and returning with the overcoat.  He clearly was unsatisfied with their lack of theme for the Masquerade, as well as the insistence that they wore military formalwear.

As if he’d read the qunari’s thoughts, he began to grumble.  “There has not been such a travesty as this since those wretched collars came back into fashion!”  The elf blinked at him in confusion.  “Ah, Madame Inquisitor, were I not ... _ restricted _ … to such boring, banal attire!  I would sheathe you in emerald and cloth-of-gold so that you shimmered like an elvish queen!”  He worked his fashion frustrations with the pins, stabbing viciously and adjusting the length of her cuffs with a snort of disgust.  “And no ruffles!  The women at the Winter Palace, Madame, will be wearing enough lace and petticoats to turn them into great unwieldy monstrosities, you shall see!  To cover such a beauteous figure in layers of brocade would be a terrible crime!  You should be wearing a gown that is as a promise on the wind, that makes you seem as keen as a blade, all the more likely to wound the hearts of those who gaze upon you!”

Bull found himself nodding in agreement, as did, surprisingly, the Inquisitor.  A long sash was being wound around her waist, making the clothier snort in disgust again.  “Well, my lord Montrose, I’m sure there will be other opportunities.”  She scowled at her reflection in the floor length mirror.  The red uniform was bulky and awkward.  “At least then I won’t look like an overgrown page _ boy _ .  Stupid sash.” 

From behind her Bull spoke up, pausing to lick crumbs from his fingers.  “From this angle, kadan, you’d have to be blind or not into ladies at all to mistake you for a boy.  Especially with the way the coat cuts,” he made a quick slashing gesture, “right at the curve of your a -” Bull stopped himself with a grunt, having distracted himself thoroughly staring hard at the area he’d been describing.  “And if anything else,” he reclined comfortably on the couch, sucking at his back teeth thoughtfully, “I can find uses for that much silk you won’t object to quite so much.”  He caught her reflection in the mirror.  She winked at him, wearing a self-satisfied expression.  The kind a cat wears while licking cream from their whiskers.

Messire Montrose looked between the two of them with a delighted, scandalized look on his face.  “Oh ho ho!  The Madame Inquisitor and the qunari mercenary captain!  They shall talk about this Masquerade for decades!”

****

The overland journey to Halamshiral was the height of uneventful, only adding to Silanah’s festering dislike of the whole affair to come.  (Though she had to admit, in the days before the Masquerade proper, Bull had found all sorts of interesting ways to use the change in furnishings.)  At least Bull had looked  _ magnificent _ in his attire, so much so that the Inquisitor suddenly found herself sitting square on the floor the first time she laid eyes on him.  She hadn’t quite realized her legs had dropped out from beneath her until Bull eased her to her feet, looking a trifle bit worried that she’d suddenly gone boneless on account of him.  He took perhaps a bit too long in brushing the dust from the seat of her pants, long enough to whisper a promise in her ear that kept her face as red as her coat up until the gates of Halamshiral swung open.

Of course the Masquerade had been just as successful a complete shambles she figured it would be.  Courtly behavior made her head ache, the smell of a dozen different expensive and cloying perfumes closed her throat, and then there was the whole business of the assassination itself and the tangled mess that had come with it.  To top off the heaping helping of gossip the Inquisition had triggered by unveiling the de Chalons’ involvement in the assassination plot, Bull had danced with her.  In the grand ballroom.  With every single peer of the realm’s eyes on them.

Naturally, he was a consummate dancer.  Ben-Hassrath training, after all.  Even as the music swelled and Bull literally swept her off her feet to twirl the last few steps with her in his arms, the whispering had started.  It had been charming to observe the elf and the qunari dance; quaint rustics who had learned the  _ gavotte _ the way a dog learns to speak.  The manner in which they finished was another entirely.

She dangled in his arms for a moment before he’d set her down, letting her tug her uniform back into place. The pointedly averted gazes made in her direction were harder to ignore than she had anticipated.  “Well, you were right about the reactions we’d get.”  She could already imagine the swarm of curious nobles swarming Josephine for information.

Bull shrugged, his hand on the small of her back as he escorted her off the floor.  His outward posture spoke of blatant indifference to the buzzing whispers and covert stares behind those damn masks.  Inside though, he was annoyed at their reactions.  Were Krem around he’d willingly wager that by the dawn bell a bard would have spun the whole thing into a sigh-inducing tale of tragic romance and smoldering passions.  The nobles would eat it up, at least in private.  Nothing public, of course.  That wouldn’t be decorus.

What he’d intended to be a pleasantly disarming smile at the first noble to stare openly at them instead came out a rictus grin that was more snarl.  He growled low in his throat so that only the Inquisitor could hear.  “Fuck ‘em.”

Unfortunately some of his irritations with idiotic human nobility had wormed their way into his plans for his kadan.  Bull had intended to tease her, undress her, bind her in the silk he unwound from her tiny waist, and let her alleviate the frustrations of the Masquerade in their particular brand of lovemaking.  Tonight he was being a little bit selfish - right up until her lips closed around him.  His remaining eye nearly rolled up in his skull, all thoughts of selfish pleasure; nearly all thoughts entirely, in fact, went straight out of his head.  He could give voice to the only one that remained, and that was between great heaving breaths and far less eloquent than he would have liked.  “K-kadan… where in the ...who… tongue!”  He’d intended to remain in control, recline leisurely as the delightfully kinky elf bent over him.

Instead he was as flat on his back as he could manage.  Already he had heard the blankets tear when he first gripped them in startled surprise.  Now he knew that if he raised his head to watch, to see her face as she washed her tongue across his - Bull grit his teeth.   _ Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean!   _ Then that skillful little pink tongue of hers found a particularly sensitive ridge, started to flicker.  The Iron Bull nearly jumped out of his own skin.

It would have been a tremendous lie to say that she wasn’t enjoying the shift in power in their game tonight.  She’d never seen him so at her mercy, and would have smiled at the thought ...at least had her mouth not been full.  Beneath her Bull’s muscles jumped uncontrollably.  It took both hands on his length to keep even that part of him still enough to lavish attention on it, and when she removed them even for a moment to caress his soft, wrinkled pouch, he nearly bucked her off completely.  From above her she heard him muttering in Qunlat, and it sounded suspiciously like especially-tedious passages from the Qun.  Suddenly a hand was on the back of her neck, sliding upwards to fist in her hair, holding tight as she moved.  “You keep that up, kadan, and you’re going to wind up with a mouthful.”

Deliberately she dragged the flat of her tongue across his head, trailed tickling kisses to the base.  “Maybe that’s my intention, hm?”  Before she could resume her work, the qunari reached with both hands, easily lifting her up so he held her at arm’s length around her midsection.

“To that I’d say you’ve got a far more satisfying place for me to _ fill up _ .”  In one surprisingly smooth motion he tossed her face-down on the bed beside him, rolling to pin her upper half to the mattress with one hand between her shoulder blades.  The other yanked her ass into the air as he positioned himself behind her.  The elf wriggled -  _ wriggled! _ \- in response, teasing him with smears of wet heat as she gyrated.  Silanah stretched, pushing backwards, even as without preamble or further warning the Iron Bull buried himself to the hilt.  The qunari didn’t seem to care that his entrance caused an orgasm to rip without warning straight through her.

The rhythm he began to pound tore sweet, high cries from his kadan, the bed itself squeaking and groaning accompaniment.  He hunched over her, releasing her shoulder to stabilize himself on the mattress instead.  Finding his wrist where it supported his weight, she dug her nails in, clutching for dear life.  His mouth was at her ear suddenly.  She hadn’t even felt him shift, but there he was, breath gusting hot and teasing on her skin.  “Scream for me, kadan.”  At the same time his hand left her waist, snaking across her stomach down between her legs.  His fingertips found a certain swollen bud as he changed tempo, thrusts coming faster and harder.

She obliged happily, body jerking of its own accord beneath him.  Stars exploded in her vision as  a sudden climax thundered over her.  At the same time Bull went rigid and then nearly collapsed a moment later, panting as he sagged over her.  A moment later his chin grazed her shoulder as he began to plant a row of gentle kisses along its curve.  “Where” kiss, “in the name of the abyss,” kiss kiss, “did you learn to do that?”  One final kiss planted on the nape of her neck and he sat up, digging his left thumb into the heel of his right palm where a cramp had started to form.  “I haven’t had somebody do that to me since that bar in Llomerryn, and there was much rolling of r’s involved.”

By now she’d managed to pry herself up off the mattress, propping up on one arm.  Bull’s … vigor … had left her feeling half-mashed to the bed, throbbing with a pleasant ache.  “I shall have to start practicing, lest a lowly tavern wench outdo the Inquisitor.  ...unless of course it was the Governess’ son?  In that case, I may be doomed.”  She squeaked as Bull left a large red handprint on her rear in response.  “Ow!  I just figured it was about time I returned the … favor.”  She fluttered her lashes at him coyly.  “Thankfully you’re easy to read insofar as ...things you like.”

“Redheads with killer tits?”

“Happy coincidence, I assure you.”

“Oh I wasn’t talking about you.  You’ve got nice tits, but your _ ass _ ,” his hand fell again with a sharp  _ crack! _ , making her squeal even as he gave the hand-printed cheek a squeeze, bending to plant a kiss at the base of her spine. “is  _ fantastic _ .”

Her knuckles dug into his shoulder as she laughed.  “Ass!”

“Like I said, it’s fantastic.  And my hand fits so well on it, see?”  He punctuated his words with a slap on the other cheek.

“Oh no you don’t!”  She rolled away onto her back, hiding her rear from him.  “I’ve got a giant, involved, drawn-out meeting with the others tomorrow morning and I’m not going to it unable to sit!”  Tomorrow it was likely that one of her rapaciously-driven advisors would want to chew over the events of the Ball for many long, wearing hours.

“It’s adorable how you think that’ll stop me.”  He lunged forward, taking her around the waist and dragging her back to his side of the bed.

Both of her hands collided with his chest as she put up a half-hearted fight to stop him.  “You leave my ass bruise-free for tomorrow morning,” she inhaled sharply as by now, both of his hands had wandered to her stinging rear, giving each cheek a squeeze, “and as soon as it’s clear you can turn it as red as you like.”  The qunari’s brows lifted as if he were considering it.  “While I’m bent over the war table.”

His grin went from horn to horn.  “It’s a date, then.  There’s an heirloom Orlesian table out there that’s gonna get a whole new use, I’d wager.  Or not, given that it’s Orlesians we’re talking about.”  He lifted his arms, crushing her high on his chest so he could bury his face in her breasts.  “Now I believe we were talking about rolling your r’s.”

“Mm, yes, to keep you away from bar wenches and Governess’ sons.”  Given the location of his face, his responding snort sounded (and felt) odd, his response muffled.

“I’m sure you heard the gossip, and then there was that damn rag.  This Bull’s got only one rider.”  His fingers dimpled her skin as he drug them down her back.

“Oh gods, they thought they were being so clever.”  She cringed in remembrance.  In the time it had taken them to ride to Halamshiral, Montrose had been less discreet than either had hoped, though it was to be expected.  Gossip was the grist in the mill of Orlais’ entire political structure.  An editorial had even been posted, though brief, in a newsletter (with an awful name) laden with the latest scandal.  The Lady Inquisitor - Dalish Herald of Andraste, and the qunari mercenary captain.  Then they had gone and danced, a flagrantly and; in the rules of the Game, frankly vulgar confirmation of the rumor.

“What, you don’t find me perfectly” he was already trying his hardest not to laugh, “romanci- _ Bull _ ?”  The kiss he placed between her breasts and above the dragon tooth necklace was more of a sputtering expulsion of air.

“I do indeed.”  Giggles were starting to bubble up within her, and they were impossible to stop.  “I also find you lovea-Bull, delecta-Bull,”  He was shaking with snorting guffaws, still trying valiantly to trail breathy kisses across her skin. “and, my personal favorite,” she adjusted slightly in his arms, reaching down to find him hard again.  She fit him between her thighs as the Iron Bull turned his face up to hers, hunger written plainly across it.  “absolutely and  _ udderly _ fucka-Bull.”

He rolled forward until she was back on the mattress, trapped in a cage made of his body as he hovered over her.  “That, kadan, was absolutely awful,” he left a love-bite on her throat, causing her to shudder.

“I think you mean terri-Bull.”  The nipple he’d been thumbing slowly was suddenly pinched.  

“Ow!”

“You’re the one who’s keeping her ass unmarked for tomorrow, not me.  And since I can’t leave such awful puns un-” he sighed, trailing off, even as she began to giggle again, escalating into great chiming peals of laughter.  She already knew what he was going to say.

“Un _ pun _ ished?”

“That one doesn’t count and you know it.”  The Inquisitor twitched as sharp incisors prickled her skin.  “Either way, you should be fairly ashamed.”

“Never.”  The word was loaded with double meaning.  It made Bull chuckle softly in satisfaction, teasing her ear in the way that made her squirm the hardest.

“Good.  Me neither.”

 


	5. Stay With Me, Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What better way to celebrate kicking the shit out of a Darkspawn Magister than with a round of tawdry sexual escapades?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand now I've officially run into Trespasser content. Oh boy that's gonna be rough.

“Kadan, you’d better keep it down or they’ll hear you.”  Bull’s tone was teasing, even if the words came between grunting thrusts.  “Unless you  _ want  _ the whole Inquisition to see their victorious leader getting fucked like an animal against the wall, hm?”  Her face, buried in his chest, flushed hot enough for him to feel, including the sobbing intake of breath as she bit her lip to keep quiet.  He also felt her constrict around him, and that made him laugh, low and smoky.  “Did you just come at the thought of being seen?  You did, didn’t you?”  Another quiet, strangled sob, her fingers digging into his ribcage.  It encouraged him all the more, though in the back of his head he was aware of just how hard he was pumping into her already.  Any harder and he’d likely hurt her.  “You’re so dirty, kadan.”  His hands tightened on her ass.  “Come for me again.”  Her body convulsed, obeying as if it had been a command.   The Iron Bull hissed sharply as her fingernails clawed his ribs hard enough to draw blood.  “Good girl.  My dirty, filthy, naughty kadan.”

The Inquisitor was aware of the moment Bull emptied himself into her, heaving and growling like a beast as he did.  It manifested as sparks behind her tightly-closed lids, making her toes curl.  Gently he eased her quaking legs to a more amenable, natural position.  Her knees had just spent the better part of this latest tawdry adventure pressed practically to her ears, and she swore she could feel her hipbones creak.  The exertion, combined with the adrenaline rush of possibly getting discovered left her shaking from stem to stern.  Bull kept her pinned and steady.  Already his breath was slowing to a more normal pace while she was still puffing like a blown horse, and he’d done all the work.  Wretched qunari and his damnable endurance.  “I hope you’re happy that you’ve turned me into such a depraved sex-fiend.”

Bull lifted her higher, knowing full well her legs wouldn’t be much help in supporting her.  “Turned?  Naaah.  Just provided an outlet for what was always there.”  He was preparing another quip as he kissed the top of her head when he heard a sound.  His right ear twitched.  Guards were changing shifts.  That meant a fresh patrol.  Uh-oh.

As if on queue the flickering light of a torch illuminated the qunari’s back.  “Oi, what’s all this?”  The soldier paused, seeing the broad back of the qunari as he faced the wall behind the Herald’s Rest.  By now it was a matter of routine to for the new guards to give the darker corners a once-over, victory or no.  He saw the qunari, and nothing else, who turned his head to leer at the soldier, clearly drunk.

“‘m takin’ a leak.  You wanna watch you’re gonna have to buy me another drink first, big guy.”  The soldier made a disgusted sound and moved on.  Bull grinned victoriously down at the Inquisitor.  “Lucky you’re so tiny or that would have been harder.  He didn’t even notice your precious little feet dangling.”

“Or he mistook them for you being hung like two horses and a druffalo.”

Bull shrugged.  “Either way.  Your knees working yet?”

“They’ll suffice.  ...where did my pants go?”

“A question for the Ages, that one.”

“ _ Bull  _ .”  There was as much admonishment in her tone as she could manage.  It wasn’t a terrible lot.

“I think I, uh … in my haste to uh … have at you… uhm…”  He made a gesture with his head, as if using his left horn to indicate  _ up  _ .

The Inquisitor hissed, eyes wide.  “You threw my pants on the  _ roof  _ ?!”

“Not intentionally!  It’s … windy!”

“All of Skyhold’s up and celebrating and I’ve got no pants!”

“Hey, I’m relatively certain most of Skyhold doesn’t have pants at this hour either.”

“They’re not the one who just beat the shit out of a Darkspawn Magister and then made a big speech about it!”

“Point.  You could use my hands to cover yourse - yeah I guess that wouldn’t make the situation any better.”  The way her arms were crossed made her feelings on that blatantly obvious.  “...I’m going to go get you another pair of pants, aren’t I?”

“Unless you wanna go look for them on the roof of the Rest!”

“The last time I was up there I almost fell through.”

“Then I guess you’re going to get me another pair, aren’t you?”  The Inquisitor tucked herself into the darkest corner where the Herald’s Rest butted up against the wall.  The qunari adjusted himself and turned to leave.  “...Bull?”

“Yeah Boss?”

“Why in the multitudinous layers of the abyss were you on the roof of the Rest?”

His teeth flashed in the scattered firelight; a peculiar, amused grin.  “Long story.  Long, funny story.  Ask Krem about it.”

“I will.  Though I intend to have pants on when I do.”

“I don’t think he’d complain if you didn’t.”

“ ** _Bull!_** ”  That one had some heat on it.

“Going, going.”  Bull’s words trailed off as he vanished around the corner.  “I’m just saying, Krem can appreciate a nice ass with the best of ‘em…”

 

Once the Inquisitor had been properly re-pants’d, the pair joined the ongoing celebration in the Herald’s Rest.  The collective eyebrows of the Chargers went up in various degrees of amusement.  They weren’t so drunk (yet) as to miss both the Inquisitor’s different trousers and the set of fresh claw marks on the Iron Bull’s ribs that with even a casual inspection seemed to be the exact dimension of a certain elf’s hands.

On top of it, neither the qunari or his kadan really remembered the reason they’d used to excuse themselves for the wicked bit of sport they’d had behind the tavern.  Well, Bull remembered, he just didn’t _ care  _ .  Krem was wearing a look that said he was going to enjoy teasing the ever-living shit out of his captain for a good long while.  “Everything come out okay, chief?”  The innuendo was so obvious Bull didn’t even try to play it off, even as the elf beside him became plainly interested in the floor.

Bull had motioned for a drink the minute he’d stepped foot in the place, and the waitress now brought over his usual.  He relaxed in his typical fashion, tucking an arm around the bundle of red-faced mortification that was the Inquisitor.  “In many ways,  _ Krem Fraîche  _ .  In many varied, wonderful,  _ copious  _ ways.”

The Tevinter tipped his bottle in the qunari’s direction in something of an appreciative toast.  “You and Your Worship aren’t the only ones.”  Krem jerked his head back towards Cabot, the bartender.  “He’s already had to break up three or four cases of …  _ extreme celebratory cuddling  _ upstairs.”

Meanwhile, the Inquisitor was struck with a convenient cough, clearing her throat.  “So … Bull tells me there’s a funny story to be had about him on the roof of the Rest?”

A corner of Krem’s mouth twitched upwards.  “He lost your knickers up there, did he?  Your pants?”  He paused, scratching his neck as if wondering how he should continue, even as the Inquisitor’s ears burned so red they were incandescent.  “The last time he was up there it was because Cabot told the big dope he was clogging the rain gutters with all the frilly underthings he was tossing up there and had to fetch them if he wanted to continue patronizing the establishment.”

Bull put his hands up in a posture of defensive submission as the elf’s head slowly turned to look at him, aghast.  “You told me it was  _ windy  _ !”  That last word came out more of a shriek than she would have liked.

“It was!  That’s … how I got ‘em up there.”  A chorus of wolf whistles erupted, causing the Inquisitor to bury her face in both hands.  “There’s a spot in the corner where the wind hits the stone right and there’s … an updraft.  It’s too good to resist!”

Her next outburst was thus muffled.  “And you told me it would be a long, funny story!”

“I was up there for an hour!  That  _ is  _ long!  You know how hard it is to dangle from the roof with one hand and pull a garter out of a gutter?!  Thing was stuck on a nail.  Was lucky I didn’t rip half the shingles off.”  He snorted, grinning at the whooping and hollering from his company.

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Naaahh.”  The arm he’d tucked around her lifted, stroking through her hair affectionately.

“You’re right, but still.  Ass.”

Krem took a drink, swallowed, and then shrugged.  “If you’d like, Your Worship, we could always help return the favor.  Though it’d probably take some sort of elaborate pulley system to haul those striped monsters onto the roof.”

“You’re welcome to try, Krem.  You’re welcome to try.  Though if you wanted in my pants so bad all you had to do was ask.” 

Krem made an over-exaggerated sound of disgust that would have done Cassandra proud.

The Inquisitor actually looked to be considering Krem’s offer, and, having been put at ease with the Chargers’ good-natured jeers, shrugged.  “Oh I don’t know, I’ll wager I can have him willingly out of them in the next … oh, quarter bell?"

From the back came a voice no one expected to hear.  “Forty royals on the Inquisitor pantsing the chief in forty-five.  Any takers?”  Heads swiveled.  It was Grim.  And he’d set off a chain reaction of bets that soon spiraled into the ridiculous.  Grim didn’t talk much, but when he did, the Chargers were keen to listen, like he was some sort of brooding chiseled oracle.

Meanwhile Bull had cocked an eyebrow at the tiny woman under his arm, looking skeptical … and just a tiny bit worried.  Still, he bared his teeth in a challenging grin.  In response she rose onto her knees on the seat of the chair.  Taking the qunari’s face in her hands, she turned him to look at her, her head disappearing alongside his.  The Chargers didn’t hear nor see what she did, but they  _ did  _ see their chief’s eye get very very wide and his brow go very very high.  Five and a half seconds later the Inquisitor’s head emerged back into view, wearing an expression that said to the qunari “well?”

In response, Bull downed the rest of his drink in a single swallow and stood, shouldering the elf as if she were a sack of grain as he made a beeline for the door.  Cheers and whoops exploded from the Chargers, even as she cupped her hands around her mouth to be heard, Bull carrying her out the door to the cries of “horns up!”

“You can leave my cut with Josephine!”

  
It felt like it was going to be an indeterminately long walk from the Rest to the Inquisitor’s quarters, but the moment Bull crossed the hall’s threshold the Inquisitor did something peculiar.  Something she’d never done before.  With a twist and shove, she broke free of his casual hold.  She hit the ground running, and for a moment Bull thought something had gone horribly wrong, the way she took off hellbent for leather.  It wasn’t until she reached the far end of the hall and shot him a smoldering look over her shoulder before disappearing that he realized what she’d started.

Bull’s eyebrows went up, and he spoke aloud to no one in particular.  “Ah, little bunny wants to be hunted, is that it?”  His entire demeanor changed, a wolfish lope to his stride.  By the time he reached the actual door to her chambers - closed tightly so the noise would be unavoidable - Bull blinked in surprise at the flickering light overhead.  He emerged onto the landing to find every candle in the place aflame, nearly a dozen in all.  Bull couldn’t help but grin in appreciation.  Romantic sexually charged ambiance, yes, but also a million twisting shadows for the nimble little minx to hide in.  She must have spun into a frenzy to get them all lit.

Crossing his arms, Bull stood in the center of the room, closing his single eye.  Though he looked as if he were completely at ease, he was coiled like a spring.  Waiting, and smelling.  Cedar oil in the dresser to repel moths and old books.  Ever so faint: a crystal vial of perfume.  And then, myrrh and cinnamon to his right.  His ear twitched.  Bare feet on carpet (she’d even taken her boots off to be all the more silent - clever girl), step, step, leap.

What she thought was a perfectly-executed ambush ended in abysmal, hysterical failure as suddenly Bull snapped in her direction, catching her around the waist as if she’d been tossed directly at him.  “Oh now that’s not fair!”  She hung her head in defeat.  “How did you know?”

“Well for starters, you came at me like a lover and not a killer.”  Her question was entirely in the arch of her eyebrow.  “You lunged from the side I can  _ see  _ on, kadan.”  He casually omitted that he hadn’t even been looking.  “Secondly,” he lifted her to his face, pressed his nose low on her belly, and inhaled deeply.  His tongue slithered out, pressed hard against the place that had given her away, imagining he could taste her even through layers of fabric.

What he wasn’t expecting was her sudden laugh.  “Well that figures.”  The Iron Bull’s confused grunt compelled her to tap his shoulder, pointing.  “Look.”  She hadn’t noticed it herself until just now, she’d been so busy frantically lighting candles and getting into position.  “It must have arrived while we were campaigning in the Wilds.”

“It” was a massive four poster bed, hung with heavy velvet drapes.  She’d commissioned it months ago, to replace the bed she and Bull had very nearly reduced to matchsticks since they’d started sleeping together.  Bull crossed the room to inspect it, rapping a knuckle against one of the posts that reached level with his head.  “Ferelden oak, from the look of it.  The craftsman must have had it brought up in sections and assembled it in here.  Nice choice, kadan.”

“And entirely in my sphere of luck that it’s here the day the goal of the Inquisition was reached.”  She sighed woefully.  “To think, I was hoping I could have christened it before defeating Corypheus.  ...I had the servants save the old headboard, by the way.”

Now it was Bull’s turn to look at her with a raised brow.

“Oh, you know, because of the giant gashes carved in it that may or may not have been made by a set of horns remarkably sized to the ones you carry around.  I was thinking about having it mounted on the wall with a little golden plaque:  ‘Bull Riding, 9:42 Dragon’.” She was wearing a massive shit-eating grin by now.  “Better yet, I could donate it to the Hall of Trophies as a gift from the Inquisition.”  The buzzing of gossip in Val Royeaux at that could have been heard at Skyhold.

The qunari couldn’t hold in the laugh that made him snort.  “You’ve officially been around Orlesians too long.”  At that, he set the woman on the footboard, holding her wrists against the posts.  The wheels in his head turning was obvious in his face and the thoughtful rumbling “hrmmm” in his chest.  After a moment he shook his head, manhandling her lower, into a different position.

It wasn’t hard to guess what he was doing, and the Inquisitor found it all the more amusing that he was plotting his various depravities while using her as a live prop.  “So is this what you do all day when you’re not drinking or hitting things?”

“Planning ways to make you beg and whimper in pleasing ways?  Mmhm.  It’s a solid forty percent of my day.  Higher if there’s no killing to be done.  Though sometimes I do multitask.”

“Drinking and planning, I hope.”  One of his hands had worked beneath her shirt, and for a moment she was distracted by what sort of Ben-Hassrath training he’d taken to enable him to undo the toggles from the inside.  The second the last one popped free Bull smothered himself in her breasts, and the Inquisitor found it difficult to concentrate on the remainder of her witty quip.  But she found that once again, Bull was already on the same train of thought.

“I’d imagine it’s incredibly unsettling to be fighting a guy my size who’s also got an uncontrollable hard-on, yeah.  But it gets in the way more often than not.”

“Poor thing.”

“I do find it mildly upsetting to discover mid-battle that I’d much rather be fucking than fighting.”

“Now you’re just lying.”

“I’ve been known to, on occasion.”  His chuckle sounded distracted, busy as he was.

Feeling the short stubble on the back of his bent head, she gave an amused laugh of her own.  Once, long ago, she had startled like a frightened mouse at the unexpected sight of his crowned head whenever it loomed in close, at the sheer shocking difference between qunari and the other races.  Now she grabbed tight to the base of those scarred horns, as Bull’s casual exploration of her skin had grown more attentive and focused.  Before she knew it he’d unlaced the front of her pants, fingers sliding beneath the waistband to push them and her smallclothes off at the same time.  Immediately his hands were on his admittedly favorite part of her anatomy, and were large enough as to allow his fingers to seek further, teasing at another favorite part of her that ranked just a little higher than her smackable bottom. 

“Come up with an idea yet?”

As he spoke, he felt her nimble little fingers working the buckles of his harness.  Though she lacked the strength to tear leather the way he mutilated clothing, the same hands that could pick a lock faster than he could blink had undone the assorted fasteners in a trice.  The armor landed with a heavy thud behind him.  “Aside from simply fucking you senseless?”  The way she clung to him using his horns, keeping his face buried in her chest, sent a shock straight to his groin.  “I’ll work something out later.”

From behind his fingers had found her wetness, and she arched against him with a little squeak.  “Well if I get a vote -” she snorted as from below she heard his muffled ‘maybe’, “I’d prefer this senseless fucking to be on a surface that doesn’t shred my back like a day-old loaf.  I’m running out of shirts that don’t have bloodstains on the inside.”  Though she wasn’t complaining, he did frequently enjoy simply pinning her against the wall to have his way with her, and even dressed stone was rough on the skin given Bull’s usual enthusiasm.

Confused, Bull paused, groping blindly upwards with one hand.  She tensed in his arms, hissing as his fingers found a viciously scratched patch of skin, and another higher on her shoulder blades.  “Ah shit, kadan, I’m sorry.  I didn’t even think to…”

She cut him off, breathless as his touch on the abrasions had sent twin needles of pain and pleasure straight through her.  “I don’t recall having said katoh.”  That strange languor of pain-pleasure seeped through her, lidding her eyes.  “Then or now.”

“Oh well  _ excuse me  _ , Boss.”

“You’re excused.”  She went rigid as Bull’s head raised, his mouth suddenly closing on her throat, just below her jaw.  For an instant she felt like hapless prey about to have its throat torn open.  Four sharp incisors felt huge and dangerous against her skin, just before his tongue washed over her as he made a large love-bite front and center for all the world to see.

“Now  _ that’s  _ what I was going for earlier this evening.”  He paused to admire his handiwork, stripping her shirt off completely.  “But  _ somebody  _ had to be all proper.  ‘Oh no Bull, I can’t make a grand speech to our Ever-Victorious Army looking like I just had a tumble, it wouldn’t be right!’  Shit.”

Now it was her turn to laugh.  “I had to give them at least one.  Since we first started this whole fiasco they’ve put up with me arriving to meetings late, bruised, bitten, unable to stand, unable to sit, unable to stay awake, walking funny - which you had me doing  _ anyway  _ and Cassandra completely noticed by the way - I felt I sort of owed them all at least one where it looked like I wasn’t putting the needs of the Inquisition behind my deviant sexual behaviors.”

“‘Fiasco’, is it?”  Bull accused teasingly, giving her earlobe a suitable nip.

“Well you do have to admit it sort of was.  I thought I was going to have to paint you a gods-damned picture.  ...and don’t stop doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

He did, but only long enough to respond.  “I heard you loud and clear, kadan.  Got a little kick out of it, to be honest.”

“Oh come off it!  The first time I ever flirted with you you turned the topic to fullers!”

“‘Blood grooves’ still sounds better.”

“See what I mean?  Ack!  That tickles!”  She swayed in his grasp - at least as much as she could, biting back a shrieking laugh.

"I know.”  He gave her rear a little swat.  “Alright, kadan, as much as I enjoy” he began planting kisses upwards along her breastbone, “that our foreplay includes witty banter and has you making a royal mess down here,” two fingers slid inside her for emphasis and caused her whole body to arch against them, “I can’t wait any longer.”  Given her position on the bed, her elevation was high enough that he had to raise his head to kiss her, bringing her mouth down on his hungrily.  “On the bed.”  It was murmured against her lips, but his next were a growling command.  “ _ On your knees.  _ ”

She obeyed immediately, backing through the drapes to assume the requested position, presenting herself to him without shame.  By that time Bull had shed his heavy leather belt, moving to the bedside.  The sight of her made him swallow with great difficulty.  “Huh.  Look at that.  New bed...”  He reached, caught her hips, and dragged her backwards to the edge of the bed.  Her hips collided with his.  “Perfect height.”  Then he grunted, as with a subtle wiggle she had ground herself up against the tent that was the front of his trousers.

Stretching like a cat being petted as he raked the fingertips of one hand down her scraped and stinging back, the Inquisitor bucked against him.  It made his one-handed attempt to undo the front of his pants a challenge.  Finally though, at long last, he slid home.  When she managed to catch her breath from that act alone, she smirked, looking at him over her shoulder.  “Let’s break the new bed in properly, shall we?”

Both of his hands went to her hips, holding her hard to him for a moment.  He grinned down at her.  “As you wish, kadan.”

*****

The next morning, as the Chargers emerged from the Rest in various states of morning-after sickness, they turned their faces to the sky to see the Inquisitor, wrapped in a silk robe as she stood grandly on the great hall’s courtyard balcony.  She bent, collecting something heavy from the stone at her feet, lifted, and heaved.

A pair of green-and-brown striped pants didn’t exactly sail through the air like one would expect.  They plummeted like a stone, landing with an audible and unceremonious  _ whump!  _ on the stairs.  From somewhere in the depths of the great hall, the Chargers heard their chief bellow in distress.  The Inquisitor ignored him, leaning an elbow casually on the rail.  “Forty-five minutes exactly.  You’ll have to forgive my delay in delivering my victory.  I was … otherwise indisposed when they came off."

Despite their aching heads, their applause was thunderous, and only escalated as Bull came bursting out of the hall’s double-doors with only a thin sheet to cover his dignity.  Before any of the hungover Chargers could collect his signature pants for hoisting (they were all too busy whistling and mock-swooning), Bull snatched them up with a victorious “HA!”  He paused, the debacle having drawn the attention of the multitudes of residents up and at their morning chores.  Bull sniffed, composing himself as he snapped his purloined pants with both hands, disentangling them from the heap they’d landed in.

As an intentional result he let the sheet drop from his waist, and seemed not to notice the mocking whistles as he turned, slinging his trousers over his shoulder as he strode back into the great hall with all the dignity of someone who didn’t have their ass bared to the world.

It was something akin to divine providence that had Cassandra exiting the hall as he reentered mother naked and smug.  “Morning Seeker.”

The Nevarran bit back an undignified yelp, averting her eyes as if she were going to be struck blind.  “Qunari, if you do not keep your pants on outside the Inquisitor’s chambers I am going to have them  _ nailed  _ on!"

Bull nodded agreeably, continuing on his merry way.  “I don’t think I’m that kinky, but I hear you loud and clear, Seeker.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bull's latest terrible nickname for Krem in relation to the scene is really only funny if you know that "fraîche", as in "creme fraîche" (something akin to French sour cream) is pronounced "fresh".


	6. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo why exactly did I not get a birthday present for the LI I've theoretically had for three to four years? It's pretty hard to top a dragon skull for everyone's favorite dragoboo, even if apparently Bull has me pulling some Cirque du Soleil shit with the chandelier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to skip the post-Trespasser wangst and go straight back to porn. And it's better, because I wrote it on Christmas.
> 
> Oh Christmas porn  
> Oh Christmas porn  
> Writing you made me burn my pies  
> Oh Christmas porn  
> Oh how I love you  
> Christmas porn

It was amazing what two inches of solid pine would do for muffling sounds.  Though for once, it wasn’t about sparing campmates or neighbors the sounds of delighted lovemaking at night.  It was a peculiar whistle-snort-chew-grunt that sounded like a large squirrel trying to eat a suit of armor.  However, it wasn’t an unholy rodent with an appetite for metal that was loose in the cottage, it was one solitary sleeping mabari.  Her mabari.  Bull had written every mabari breeder in the area after the Council, looking for available pups.  He was a mercenary captain, and mercenaries survived on coin.  There was no coin to be made playing domestic with a one-armed elf still bent on saving the world, and Bull didn’t want her completely alone.

After the events of the Exalted Council, Bull had endeavored to help her through the healing process.  Already he had used his dominant tendencies to break the shell she’d tried to hide inside once Solas had taken the Anchor and her arm.  That night had been dark, not their usual adventures with ropes and blindfolds.  Neither one spoke much about it.  What was done was done. 

She just hadn’t been aware of how much  _ noise  _ a mabari made.  Or maybe it was just her mabari who was slightly ...defective.  He had, after all, been kicked viciously in the head by a horse when he was a pup, leaving him deaf in one ear and mostly blind in one eye.  On top of it all the name he’d chosen to accept was Sweetums.  Sweetums the mabari, a name offered in jest by Bull on the return journey, the pup wriggling with delight in Silanah’s lap.  The second he’d said it the dog had opened its mouth and let out a strange thunderous “BAROOOROOOOOOO” that she would come to learn was his way of agreeing.  On top of having a range of vocalizations that included not only the sonorous “okay!” howl, the dog farted, burped, humphed, grumped, grumbled, whistled … and quacked.  He fit in quite well.  A peculiar dog for a peculiar couple.  It was only when he slept that all of those noises became a hellish snore that usually had the dog banished to his bed downstairs.

She turned, finding Bull sitting casually on the edge of the bed, watching her with one of his hungry looks.  Pressing her back against the door, she pretended to shrink away from his heated stare, gazing at him through lowered lashes in an attempt to look demure and innocent.  A grin hooked up the corners of his mouth as he lifted an arm from his knee, beckoning her over with a crook of his finger.  Immediately she went to him, still keeping her eyes downcast.  When she stopped between his knees both hands went to her outer thighs, fingers raking up her body.  In response her head tilted back as she breathed a soft sigh.  Bull laughed.  “Kadan playing the timid virgin.  Heh.  What a treat, especially when I know just how dirty she really is.  So dirty, infact,” his hands stopped wandering, squeezing her ass hard enough to make her squeak, “that you’re going to strip for me.”  She whined in frustration as his hands left her.  He reclined back on an elbow, waving her off with the other hand.  “Get to it, woman.  Slowly.”

Fortunately for Bull, she had adjusted her everyday wardrobe to compensate for her missing arm.  Otherwise the little show he’d intended her to give him may have been more tedious and less titillating.  She obeyed his command without question, watching his growing grin with lashes still lowered as she undressed.  His pleased rumbling growl was especially nice as she reached behind her for the knotted end of the breast band she was wearing.  She arched up to free the binding, letting it fall away in slow teasing coils.  When she hooked her thumb into the waist of her smallclothes he stopped her, sitting upright.

“I’ll handle that,” he growled, both hands on her back as he pressed his face against her stomach, breathing in the smell of her.  A swift yank that elicited a delicious shudder from the ex-Inquisitor and her smallclothes were simply gone.  Somewhere in the back of her head she was pondering what sort of mood Bull was in tonight, though she got her answer soon enough.  “It occurs to me,” he rumbled, “that it was my birthday recently.  And circumstances being what they were at the time, it was understandable that I didn’t get my  _ present  _ .”  Nevermind the fact that the dragon skull the Chargers had gotten him was  _ still  _ in transit from Halamshiral to their cottage.

On the word ‘present’ Bull had gone into action, pinning her elbows together behind her back with one hand, while using the other to bring forth a length of satin ribbon he must have kept hidden in a pocket.  Soon her elbows were bound and tied with a bow.  The action arched her back, Bull chuckling at the expression on her face.  “What, you thought because you lack a pair of wrists I wouldn’t know what to do?  For shame, kadan.”  She cried out, leaning into his touch as he palmed her breasts, calluses rough on soft skin.  “Though this way does make your tits pop more.”  Distracted, he pulled her down onto his mouth, suckling greedily until she squirmed and writhed like a thing gone mad.

Another frustrated whine as he stopped, repositioning her to stand on the outside of his right knee.  Then, almost comically, he put a single finger between her shoulder blades, and pushed.  Her knees collided with his and she toppled over into his lap, her ass in the air and her face in his opposite thigh.  A hand went to her ass immediately, squeezing and massaging, while the other fisted in her hair.  “Look, kadan,” he commanded, turning her head to the right.  Against the wall leaned an old stand mirror.  In its reflection she clearly saw her compromised position, the way Bull dwarfed her.  She went scarlet, squeezing her eyes shut, earning a husky laugh from the qunari.

A sharp slap to one cheek made them pop open again with a gasp.  “Keep them open, kadan.  Watch what I do to you.  If you want me to keep going, you’ll keep them open.”  It was all she could do to nod assent, watching as the Iron Bull began to grope her.  Squeezes that would later form fingerprint bruises traveled her thighs and raised ass until she squirmed, very much aware of the blunt hardness prodding her midsection.  Then his fingers crept up the inside of her thigh, and she watched, lips parted in anticipation, as they reached higher.  He was going at a deliberately slow pace, all because it prompted her to twitch and tremble.

Finally, using his fore and ring finger, he parted her so that his middle could dip within her, teasing.  Her answering moan was deep and throaty, and it made him smile.  “So eager for me, kadan?  Look at how excited you are.”  With his wrist resting on her ass it was easy enough to tilt her hips toward the mirror enough so that she could observe.  His other hand remained firm in her hair, preventing her from burying her face in his leg.  She tried to anyway when two fingers slid inside her, and the resulting yank on her hair caused her eyes to water and blur her vision, which made the way she bucked her hips against his hand easier to watch without withering from shame.

_ Did I turn you into a depraved sex fiend?  No, kadan, I just gave you an outlet for what was already there. _

The thought triggered a bizarre feedback loop within her.  She watched her hips gyrate and wag against his pumping fingers, which sent a rush of blood to her cheeks, the mortification in turn causing her to thrust harder back against him until she was only dimly aware of Bull’s chuckle. 

“You’re really enjoying fucking my fingers, kadan.  And I have to admit, I’m loving the show.”  As a reward for her behavior the two digits within her flexed and curled, causing a sudden climax to crash over her that blurred her vision.  She didn’t need the mirror to know Bull was grinning, pleased with her.  She basked in that praise, then reveled in the new shame.

It really was a hedonistic delight to be helpless in his hands and do exactly what was told of her.  And, she had to admit, there was something wickedly alluring about her reflection in the mirror.

Bull’s fingers unclenched in her hair, slid beneath her to her breastbone.  He sat her upright, knees spread and balanced on his thighs as she was left to lean against his chest.  “You’re loving every minute of this, aren’t you?”  His tone wasn’t mocking nor scolding, and when the hand that had been inside her came near to cup her cheek, she pulled her head back to give him a reward of his own.

In one long, slow motion, she curled her tongue around his index finger, followed by his middle.  Her eyes never left his, licking and suckling until it and then the other were cleaned.  By the time she went to work on the second, Bull’s breath was far more ragged than it had been at the start.  A teasing flick with the tip of her tongue let him know she was finished, before she licked at the corner of her mouth like a satisfied cat.

“Kadan,” he growled in anticipation.  Muscle knotted in his shoulders as he wrestled to master himself.  When he pulled her in for a kiss she dipped her head, catching his lower lip in a teasing nibble.  He returned the favor, teeth flashing as they then grazed her chin and the finial of the tattoo there.  Below, she felt him unlacing his trousers.  Then without warning, he lifted and turned her, her head swimming as the room spun.  She was now face-to-reflection, watching Bull shift their positions slightly.

The heat radiating from him as he poised between her thighs seemed all the more potent now that she was seeing it as well as feeling it.  From over her shoulder Bull rumbled his satisfaction.  “That’s right, kadan, don’t take your eyes off it.”  With that, Bull sank her, inch by torturous inch, down upon him.  She never looked away as finally she settled on his lap, body twitching and grinding of its own volition against him.  Another growl, a warning squeeze on her ass, Bull’s feral smile in the mirror.  With minimal effort, he lifted her nearly off him completely, before driving her down atop him again.  Bull repeated the process, and each time she cried out as she watched him disappear inside her.  Finally, though, Bull could take no more games, no more teasing.  He rocked backwards on the bed, hips snapping up to meet her as she rose and fell.

The ribbon tugged, then fell away.  No longer forced to hold an arch, her back assumed a more natural position.  This caused her to tip forward until she gripped Bull’s knee to steady herself.

Permission to Ride the Bull granted.

She wasn’t exactly sure of what exactly caused the orgasm and the high, rippling wail that accompanied it.  Bull inside her, or the sight of her frenzied bouncing atop him and his rising to meet her each time.  A few wild strokes of his own later, the Iron Bull buried himself within her, his pelvis shuddering and grinding against hers.  His breath escaped in a long, low, heaving grunt, muscles contracting uncontrollably.  By the time he eased himself back onto the bed completely, he lay there almost like a dead thing.  Even the uncomfortable pressure of his horns against the mattress was insufficient to have him groping for pillows.  She somehow remained upright, but barely, clinging to his knee as sweat dripped from her chin to the floor in a steady stream.

For the span of many heartbeats there was no sound but that of labored breathing from the both of them, until finally Bull found the ability to speak, his voice husky.  “H-Herald of Andraste’s _ tits.  _  Damn, Boss.”  It earned a weary, if amused snort from the elf, who sagged atop him.  “Need some help?”

It took an unconscionable amount of effort to even nod “uh-huh”.  Bull was hardly able to manage it himself, only able to slide himself free and help her topple backwards onto his chest.  She sprawled atop the Iron Bull, head lolling on his pectorals.  Silence fell again, and she was aware only of the way his heart thudded against her back, the way his chest rose and fell, taking her with it.  It very nearly lulled her to sleep.  But of course, Bull recovered far quicker than she, and soon wrapped his arms around her, lifting his head to kiss the curve of her shoulder.  Whiskers prickling her neck made her grin.  A question popped into her head, and she didn’t bother trying to stop it.

“So, as good as or better than the dragon skull?”  Somehow she found the strength to laugh as Bull’s head fell back onto the bed.

He was actually thinking it over as he wadded a knot of blankets and pillows haphazardly beneath his neck.

“If I  … I dunno, do you on top of it or something.   _  That  _ would be the best birthday ever.”

She snorted again, the closest thing she could manage to a laugh in her current state.  “There’s always next year.”

Bull reached for her hand, wove their fingers together.  By now he was no longer surprised by the determined strength with which she gripped him.  “I’ll start planning it now, kadan.”

 


End file.
